The In-Between
by Hybrid.Soldier18
Summary: Makarov is dead and the world knows peace again, but change is the only constant With new troubles arising in the scene, will the new Task Force 141 be able to prevent another world war? The stakes are higher as the new Task Force is the only bulwark between peace and an inevitable nuclear winter
1. Chapter 1: Risen From Ruins

**AN: So this is my first story on FanFiction here. I have always wanted to write a fanfic for ages, but could never reach a particular plot to write on. However, after playing Modern Warfare 3, an idea struck my mind. I don't know how will it be, but I hope it will be great.**

**So here goes  
**

Chapter 1: Risen From Ruins

The Arab moonlight, mingled with the inferno from the crashed chopper, seeped through the broken roof unto the dark room in which the glass roof had broken. The seven star luxury hotel, called Oasis, had been a battleground just a few minutes ago. It all began with two men in Juggernaut suits entering the premises, with their guns blazing against anyone who held a weapon. And it was all over, all quiet now.

And this quiet hurt more than the shards of glass and bullets lodged inside John Price's body.

Captain John Price, 22nd SAS serviceman, and a member of the now decimated Task Force 141, sat in silence, smoking a cigar. His body smarted painfully as he realized that he had reached an age where fighting to the extreme was not his cup of tea anymore, but the acrid smoke from the cigar helped to ease up his agony.

He thought about his fallen comrades, _brothers_, he corrected. Yes, they were like his brothers in a way. He wondered for what purpose he had lost such fine warriors in the end. Gaz, Roach, Ghost, Soap, Sandman, Truck, Grinch, Frost and Yuri…. He guiltily remembered how had he suspected on Yuri, that how had he held Yuri responsible for Soap's death. And today he was, for once, proved wrong. He was not wrong about Shepherd, neither was he wrong about launching that nuclear warhead from that docked sub.. He brushed all these thoughts aside, because he had decided that the death of his brothers were not in vain.

He gazed up in satisfaction, as he beheld the limp body of Vladimir Makarov swinging gently from side to side. _Yes_, he thought, _this is what they wanted. This is what I wanted. They would have been pleased enough to see this bastard swinging from the noose like a hanged criminal_. He exhaled the cigar smoke lazily, satisfied that the objective of his taskforce was completed, at last. He heard police sirens in the distance and he closed his eyes.

Senior Inspector Hashim bin Muhammad had never seen the Oasis in this state before- or for that matter, nobody had. Dead bodies lay here and there, but surprisingly, they all held weapons- from pistols to assault rifles. Some of the dead has RPGs too. It was strange, strange because not a single tourist staying in the hotel was killed. He ruled out a terrorist attack from his meditations.

"Alfaz, get me the log of those who were staying inside the Oasis this evening. I need feeds from the security cameras as well to ascertain what happened here. "

He stood by his car as a skinny looking man ran up to his car, with a laptop in his arms. _That was fast_, he mused. "Ease down, Alfaz, catch a breath," he waited for Alfaz to be able to speak. Soon, he was looking towards the glow of the laptop screen.

"Sir, as you can see, the only person who had a large security detail with him was a chap called Makarov, Vladimir Makarov. From the looks of it, he had a small army with him-"

"Makarov? _The Makarov_? The Russian ultranationalist leader was here? Shit! How could UAE's intel be off? Damn it! Anyway," he looked towards Alfaz, "continue".

"Yes, so Makarov was hiding out here, and why he had a security detail is apparent by this," Alfaz looked around for emphasis," carnage. But who were those two men who stormed this place?"

"Don't give me that, Alfaz. According the cam feeds, _two _men had done this much damage? Have you checked the feeds properly?"

"Yes, sir", Alfaz shrugged, "it's hard to believe but two men have done it. I was hooked over the feeds for a long times." He played a media clip, "As you can see, these are two blokes who have rocked this place. Strangely, they're wearing bomb disposal suits-"

"These are not _ordinary _bomb disposal suits, Alfaz" he was still hooked on to the video clip, "these are called Juggernaut suits. They are like bomb disposal suits but it is covered with heavy Kevlar. Only someone going on a suicide mission would wear this.. And judging by what has happened here, it was a suicide mission. I don't think anyone would be alive after all this-"

"_This is search party Alpha. Sir, this place is a complete mess, everything's broken. But we have found two bodies. One is apparently the Russian ultranationalist leader, Vladimir Makaro. We found him hanging by the noose. The second one is a ghastly affair; he died from a loss of blood. Name's Yuri and he was a member of some taskforce... Task Force 141. But there is someone alive too; we found him smoking a cigar. He has lost a lot of blood from shrapnel and bullet wounds, he.._."

"His name?" Senior Inspector Hashim bin Muhammad was after many years eager and excited.

"_His name is John Price, sir. And he was with this Yuri guy. They're both from this Task Force 141. I think they were here to kill Makarov and_-"

"That'll be enough, boys. Bring him out carefully, and see if you can get a stretcher in there. He _needs _to be alive."

He looked at Alfaz and said, "Looking at what these two have done, I think it will be useless to prosecute this Price guy. It'll be better if you can get in touch with the British and American embassies ASAP".

"Yes, sir. Of course," Alfaz gave a crisp salute before going on to carry out his orders.

_At least_, Hashim bin Muhammad thought, _the world is at peace._

Or so he hoped.  
_

**So how was it, folks? I guess you might have recognized from where have I started. We have heard the police sirens at the end of MW3, and thus this is my inspiration to write this story. I'm eagerly waiting reviews from you guys, and I hope you guys have liked it. The name of the chapter comes from the name of the national anthem of East Germany. It goes well with "Dust To Dust", so I have kept it.**

**Sincerely,  
18**


	2. Chapter 2: Good Things Don't Last Long

**AN: So, how was the first chapter of the story? I know that I am a new writer and I am attracting very few reviews, let alone being made a favorite and being followed. But, I don't look for fame, I just want to write for the sake of writing. And those of you who have reviewed- a big thank you! Your words of encouragement and constructive criticisms have kindled me to write better.**

**I have made an outline of how will this story go, but I'd certainly love your guesses. :)**

_  
Chapter 2: Good Things Don't Last Long

_It's cold_, Price reflected.

It had been half a dozen months since that showdown which ended the menace of Makarov. As he came back home- the SAS base at Credenhill- the American and British governments hailed him as an hero. The brass at MI5 and MI6 went gaga over what Price and the One-Four-One. From everywhere, accolades came to Price just as iron fillings are attracted to a magnet. Even President Vorshevsky had made him an honorary colonel in the Russian Army. All was good for him.

Except _one _thing- he was retiring, pretty soon.

The early January morning was chillier than anybody had anticipated. Snow lay flat on the ground, giving a fairy-tale like scene in front of his eyes. The entire SAS base was about to wake up… Price had been an early riser.

Coffee mug in hand, he stood still as he engaged in _boketto_. Dawn was braking and he knew that the entire base would be abuzz with activity- he looked at his wristwatch- in about a few minutes. The silence was stabbing him. He was used to silence, for he was a master of stealth. But this silence was, _different_. It was the silence which pervades everything; it overlaps all sense of action and purpose. This silence, Price mused, was the silence of not doing anything.

"You never changed, Price. You are the same whether you're a greenhorn or a captain."

Price turned back, somewhat surprised at the Scottish voice slicing through this thick silence. He eased, seeing his old friend from bygone days who was with him on every SAS op. He acknowledged him not only as a good friend, but also as a mentor.

"Old habits die hard, Mac," he smiled weakly, "and you know that."

"Aye," Baseplate casually stood there, "mind if I join in?"

"No, of course," Price took a sip out of his coffee.

"Heard that you're retiring, John?"

"Yes," Price sighed," every bastard has his day. You don't expect me to fight on forever, do you?"

"I'd hate to sound like a kid, but I do," Baseplate grinned," pretty sure that you can down a dozen tangos from a wheelchair too."

"I'll be dead before somebody gives me a wheelchair to sit on. Anyway, I thought you were in Hereford."

"Was," Baseplate corrected. He continued, "The day I became liaison between MI6 and the SAS, I have done nothing except sitting around an doing paperwork, until Volk decided to wipe us out."

"I know. When we spoke for the first time, after the bombings, how many of our boys died?"

"Five hundred plus, John" Baseplate sighed, trying not to remember the day which ended the lives of many promising SAS cadets, "the clock tower at Hereford have many new names added…. It's sad that we lost Soap."

"Yes, Price bowed his head in grief. Outside, the sun had already risen. A bugle sounded not very far- signaling that this was the time for the base to roar into life. _Better than this stifling silence_.

"So what will happen to the Task Force one you retire?"

"You lead it, it will be worthwhile," Price said.

"That will be bad, because it has been ages since I last was on the field. Rusty is the word I suppose. However," Baseplate said thoughtfully, "you can rely upon Walcroft. He is a promising lad, and he led the op on Canary Wharf. It's a pity that his entire squad was KIA. Only he and another lad named Burns made it out alive."

"I heard," Price said, "well at least the One-Four-One will have some young blood in it. Eitherways, my days are done. I will soon hand in my resig-"

"Sir! "A soldier barged into the room as if we was chased by a _jotun_. Baseplate and price looked up in surprise. "Calm down," Baseplate said, "Catch your breath, son."

The young sepoy inhaled and exhaled as if he was a fish out of water. He then said, "Indian and Pakistani delegates have been killed during a high level talk. There is someone for MI6 who wants me to get you on the comms," he said, pointing towards Baseplate.

"Aye, I'm on my way," Baseplate hurriedly got up and left for the comms room.

Price still sat there and asked, "Lad, where is the nearest TV set?"

"It's this way, sir," the young soldier led him.

As Price walked, the only thing in his mind was dread. Sheer dread. _Not again. Not another world war_!

_

**So, here again, trouble is about to erupt, but from a place to well known for four wars. Any guesses what will be the third chapter about?**

_**Boketto**_**= (Japanese, verb) the act of looking at something or someone casually and aimlessly.**

**And I am eagerly waiting for your reviews. I hope that this was pleasing to the eye and imagination.**

**Sincerely,  
18**


	3. Chapter 3: The Coming Of The Storm

AN: Hey guys, sorry for not writing for so long. Was tangled up with some problems :/  
But now that I'm back, I will continue writing.

So enough of the chit-chat.

_

Chapter 3: The Coming of the Storm.

_So here we are, _Musa mused. Not that he had never performed night ops before, but this time his mission was significant. He had went to the mosque that evening and invoked God to ensure the success of this high ranking mission.

He shivered. So did everybody in his squad- Peshawar still hadn't come out of its wintry hangover and January had just begun. The cold bothered him, indeed, but what bothered him the most was the success of this mission. His father used to be in the Pakistani Taliban, he couldn't let his family's name down.

On second thoughts, his _ammi_ would be bereaved if he died tonight.

Brushing all those thoughts aside, he focused on the mission and his Kalashnikov.

Suddenly, the chill winds carried the sound of the _azaan_, the Muslim call to prayer. It was the fifth and the last _azaan _for the day; and that was the signal for the commencement of their attack.

Their squad- one of the three insurgent squads hiding in the shadows of the Hotel Kohinoor, began moving. Stealth and the element of surprise was important for the mission to be a success. However, the plan had room for some diversions. A truck showed up all of a sudden, its headlights blazing and its engine roaring, speeding towards the entrance of the hotel. Musa and his squad could see that the Hotel security knew what that meant, and they tried to run away, but the truck rammed the security kiosk, crushing the guards to death. No sooner the truck had stopped than the _fidayeen _in the driver's seat blew himself up, alongwith the truck. People in the vicinity ran helter-skelter, knowing that this was the prelude to a terrorist attack.

Musa's squad moved in for their duty, not only for religion but also for themselves.

…

After massacring the entire hotel staff and any American or British guest staying in, Musa's squad, alongwith what remained of the other two squads, made their way to the conference room where the Indian and Pakistani delegates had been busy negotiating. The causalities had been high- seven dead, eight remaining. Musa had been detailed with the job of neutralizing hostiles while his comrades were doing the dirty job. For some reason, Musa could never bring himself to kill unarmed targets. Indeed, he was made a laughing stock of his family and his unit, but he didn't care.

As they approached the conference room, they faced a strong column of Pakistani security forces. Two fighters died in an instant, but the remaining six took up whatever cover was available.

"Me and Rashid will flank them," Musa said, "you guys cover for us and suppress them!"

The four nodded and began firing vigorously while Musa and Rashid swerved towards another hallway, which led them behind the column of the security forces. Outflanking them, they fired from behind, killing the soldiers.

"Nice move, Musa," Haider smirked.

"Dad taught. Come on, we have work to do." Musa led the way.

Rashid and Haider stood on either side of the door, which was obviously barricaded from the inside. But Musa, being the strongest of the lot, kicked the door and the door broke open, pushing the barricading chairs behind, which toppled an Indian guard out of balance. Musa entered and he saw the entire Indo-Pakistan delegation huddled up in a corner. But before anyone could do anything, three Indian NSG Commandos sprang up from their cover and began firing at the attackers, killing three. Musa ducked just in time and then charged to the nearest Commando firing at his direction. He ran towards him and began a deadly wrestling joust with the "infidel", as the imam was wont to call. Rashid and Haider began to follow Musa's example and they soon engaged in hand-to-hand combat.

Musa, sweating and breathing, found to his dismay that his adversary was as powerful and as clever as he was. Pinning him down and wringing his neck was out of the question, so he decided to tire off his opponent and shoot him dead when he got the chance. Musa kicked his knee straight into his enemy's stomach, but the Commando managed to dodge it and instead tried to lock Musa's arms behind his neck. Rashid and Haider had successful overcome their opponent and they set up C-4 charges. They didn't wait tgo see if Musa had finished dealing with their opponent or not, they simply uttered an _Allah-hu-Akbar_, and triggering the C-4 charges. The conference room lit up in a spectacular glow of orange and the shockwave pushed Musa and the Commando to the left, flinging them against a wall. They fell behind an overturned table. Soon, a fiery glow and debris obliterated any trace of the once _magnifique_ conference room.

Musa felt pain all over his body, mostly a stinging pain, thanks to the innumerable number of shrapnel-like objects piercing is body. His head was subject to a throbbing pain and he could feel blood oozing out of it.

The last thing he saw was his former adversary. He too was injured and blod was seeping from the wounds in his body. Either he was dead, or he was near death like himself. For the first time, Musa realized that he wasn't looking at any "infidel" or any "enemy of the faith."

He was looking at a human, just as he was.

Then he lost into the limbo of oblivious darkness.

_

AN: I kinda agree that it loks like the "No Russian" campaign from MW2, and in many ways, I intend it to be so, as far as its function is concerned to the characters and plot.

I hope this was good. O

I'l leave it here, then.

Sincerely,  
18 


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